


The Words We Cannot Say

by Tseecka



Category: Primeval
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, M/M, reminiscences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tseecka/pseuds/Tseecka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Live a life without regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Words We Cannot Say

He knew no one would be around this time of the morning. The fog was still clinging to the dew-wet grass; only the barest of the sun's rays hit the tops of the stones, giving them the fiery glow of early dawn. His feet left imprints in the damp grass as he walked among the tombstones. The container he held clasped in his hands felt like it weighed a tonne, despite the lightness of its contents. 

Somewhere in the trees that dotted the cemetery landscape, a songbird called out. 

* * *

 

"I have no desire to have my bones dug up by some nosy future archaeologist," Nick panted, some trace of humour still left underneath the patina of pain. Connor managed to offer a weak smile, but couldn't look at Cutter's face. His eyes focused elsewhere, somewhere on a piece of the metal framework that had once filled the room. The heat of the explosion had bent and twisted it all out of shape. Like their lives, he thought miserably. This wasn't how thing were meant to be; the explosion had warped time, had messed with everything. 

It was, he determined silently, all Helen Cutter's fault. But it was done now, both model and life warped beyond repair. Nick Cutter sat, slowly dying, beside him, and Connor knew there was no way to save him. So he just kept his eyes fixed elsewhere, and tried to blink away the tears that stubbornly refused to stop coming. 

 Cutter was talking, but Connor could barely hear the words now, indistinguishable through the pain and smoke that laced the professor's voice. His head was resting heavily on Connor's shoulder--it was so heavy--and the young man noticed his own hands trembling. 

"He didn't know," Nick breathed out, the weight behind the words dropping them like stones into the silence, like he was finally letting go his hold on some huge weight that he had carried with him. "I still suspected him, you know. Right up til he went through that door--after, too. I still thought there was some plan. Some set up that he and Helen had planned." He shook his head briefly, sorrow evident in his words. It hurt Connor to hear him. "He walked into that room so I didn't have to. He faced death, and pain, and did it to save my life. And I still thought...I still thought he was with her." Connor could hear him struggling with the words, and wanted to rest a hand on Nick's shoulder, to shush him and beg him to save his strength, but something told him Nick had to say it. Had to get the words out. "Not completely, but...part of me, Connor..." He choked, on blood and ash and tears, and started coughing as tears left streaks down his dirty face. 

"How could I think that, Connor?" he asked miserably. "And now, God--I have to die before I realize he would never...he never betrayed me. He died for me, and stupid as I am, I made it all for nothing." He took a deep, shaky breath, and repeated in nearly a whisper, "For nothing." 

Connor, through the grief clenching at his heart, tried again to urge Nick to his feet. Again Nick refused; that was when Connor realized the sobering truth. 

Nick Cutter wanted to die. 

In fact, Connor thought, his eyes still wide with disbelief and still unwilling, unable, to look at his professor, it was likely Cutter had wanted to die since the moment Stephen had closed the door between them. The guilt, the pain...he still remembered what it felt like when they had thought Abby was dead, and Nick and Stephen had been partners for much longer than that. And of course, there were the rumours--mostly bandied about, nothing to take seriously, but if there was even an ounce of truth to the theories that put the two men together as something more intimate than an academic partnership, it was no wonder Nick was so devastated. 

"No burial," Nick pleaded, breaking the silence again and returning to that train of thought. There was no humour in his words anymore, though--just desperation. "No casket, no burial, not even a grave marker. I don't want to rot in the ground--Connor--look at me--" he grasped weakly at Connor's shirt sleeve, and the young man couldn't deny his request. Nick stared directly into his face, holding his gaze. 

"I want you to make sure I'm cremated," he said quietly, the strain his body was in making itself apparent in his weak, trembling voice. He was fading quickly. "The University, or the ARC, or whoever can decide where the ashes go, but I need you to take some of them..." He closed his eyes, breathed as deeply as his injured chest would allow--"take them to Stephen's grave. Please."

Connor was nodding before he even knew what he was agreeing to. And there it was, everything confirmed before his eyes. Nick Cutter's last momentous revelation. 

After that, it was as though Nick had finally decided to allow himself to go. He wasn't afraid of death; Connor could tell that much. He just closed his eyes, resting once more against his friend's side as his breathing slowed and his body grew still. 

Connor stopped even trying to keep back the tears, as he leaned his cheek against the sandy hair and cried. 

* * *

 

Nick laughed alound as he poured another two glasses of whisky and sent one across the desk to his aide. They both raised their glasses, toasting one another. 

"To new discoveries!" Stephen proclaimed, lips spread in a rare wide grin as he tipped his glass back, taking a long swallow. 

"Aye," Nick agreed, grinning in return at Stephen over the rim of his glass. His eyes met the other's clearly, and they both froze for just a moment. 

"You know," Nick said finally, breaking the exchange and looking down into his glass, "I couldn't have done this without you." He absentmindedly clinked the ice around, distracting himself from the disarmingly clear blue eyes of the man sitting across from him. 

"Oh, sure you could, mate!" Stephen responded jovially. He waved his arm around the cluttered office. "You're Nick Cutter! Zoologist extraordinaire! With an office like this, who could doubt your brilliance?!"

Nick shook his head with a wry smile etched across his features. "You sound a lot like Captain Jack Sparrow when you're drunk, did you know that?" he commented, almost to himself, just the hint of an affectionate tease lacing his words. "I mean it though, Stephen."

"What? That I sound like 'Cap'n Jack Sparra'?" 

"No! Well, yes, but..." His demeanour became thoughtful, reflective; the smile faded a little. "I don't know how I could have got through this--any of this--without you." 

Finally convinced that Nick was being serious, Stephen stared back evenly. He rested his glass on the desk with a pile of first-year papers as a coaster, taking his time, chewing over his words carefully. When he finally spoke, he sounded as sober as he'd ever been, and nothing like a drunken movie pirate. "Where else would I be, exactly?"

The smile he offered then warmed Nick's heart in a way he hadn't felt since the first time he fell in love. 

* * *

 

Nobody saw him scoop some of Nick's ashes out of the decorative urn, he was sure. He had been alone in the sanctum of the funeral hall while everyone else mingled and mourned out in the lobby. It had been worked out that Cutter's ashes would be sent to his parents in Scotland. 

It bothered him a little, scooping a handful of dead and charred professor into a tupperware, but the seriousness behind Nick's last request--one he hadn't told to anyone--strengthened his resolve, and for the next three days, he hoarded the tiny box full of Cutter's remains in his closet at the flat. One morning, he was finally able to rouse himself before Abby got up. 

And now, here he was; standing next to Stephen's grave, a box of ashes heavier than lead in his hands. He read the name on the headstone aloud, quietly, his voice catching, then looked down as he popped the lid off of the ashes. They didn't shift or stir at all, the morning air perfectly still.

The grass on the mound was still sparse, only half grown from the seeds Cutter had sown there. A wilted bouquet rested at the foot of the cross, yellow daffodils and violet irises that had barely retained their last vestiges of color, baby's breath shrivelled into nothing. Connor picked up the card and read it silently.

"Still missing you." The scratchy hand could only be Cutter's--he'd seen enough comments on his papers over the months and years to recognize it. Connor felt tears prick his eyes. 

"You'll be together, now," he muttered lamely, wishing, as he so often did, that he had better words, his voice breaking. He tipped the box to one side and watched the ashes scatter over the dirt at his feet. He tucked it into the pocket of his jumper and just stood, staring at the grave, until tears obscured his vision. 

* * *

 

Nick sighed delightedly into the chest he was cradled against, his fingers running absentmindedly through the sparse curls at the base of Stephen's throat. He pressed a light kiss to the skin there, smiling a little at the scent and the feel and the closeness of him. These were his favorite moments, quiet times when they could lie together under the comfortable white duvet and just be. 

"Do you really have to go tomorrow?" Stephen asked. His voice was quiet, and his words were about as plaintive as Stephen Hart was likely to ever be. Nick felt the hand resting on his shoulder tense just slightly, protective, restrictive--wanting to keep Nick with him. 

"Can you really not come with me?" Nick countered in kind. He was infinitely inferior at the pout, however. He wanted so badly for Stephen to travel with him to the Galapogos; the sonar dig had managed to locate some intriguing fossils under the rocky shore, and he wanted Stephen to be there. If this was a discovery, he wanted to share it with the man who had been his student, his aide, and his best friend for the last six years. 

He could feel Stephen shaking his head. "Who would take your classes?"

Nick pretended to think about that for a while. "Connor Temple?" he suggested finally, naming one of the strange students in his class, whose outlandish papers they were both familiar with. The kid had a great style of writing, but all his facts, theories, and arguments were ridiculous at best. Stephen laughed at the suggestion, as Nick had hoped he would. It was a deep, happy sound that echoed through his chest, rumbling in Nick's ear. 

"Idiot," he said affectionately, thumping Nick's shoulder with his hand. "You know perfectly well that the only reason your students even listen to me lecture is because I'm young and ridiculously attractive. Temple'd have no chance."

Nick took that as his cue, and rolled over so that he was straddling his "young and ridiculously attractive" aide. "You are, at that," he agreed softly. He leaned down, and placed a kiss on those pouting lips. 

"I'm going to miss you so much."

* * *

 

"Connor! Where've you been?!" Abby exclaimed as he walked through the door. "Jenny called like twenty minutes ago, we've been trying to get hold of you!" She was rushing around the flat like mad, grabbing things and stuffing them into her shoulder bag. 

"Another anomaly, I suppose?" Connor sighed dejectedly. He wasn't looking forward to it. Jenny was a nice enough girl, but she had no idea what she was doing, and the thought of even dealing with any creatures or anomalies or anything of the sort so soon after Cutter's death hurt him. 

"Where were you?" Abby repeated, looking him up and down as she paused by the door, keys in hand. "You look like hell."

"Out; doing some thinking," he lied, his voice quiet. Abby chewed briefly on her lower lip. 

"Right. Cutter's death got you pretty bad, huh." Connor nodded mutely, not bothering to respond that he knew how badly she was affected, too. He'd woken up in the middle of the night every night since to the sound of muffled crying coming from her room. He'd wanted to go and comfort her, to hold her and let her cry into his shoulder, but things were still too unsure between them. 

And he had been spending most of his nights crying, too. He didn't really want Abby to know that, but he had a feeling she already did. 

He gave her a faint smile, grabbing the case on the floor that housed a piece of his sealing device. He was having some issues with modulating the flow of energy; working on the thing was a god distraction from how much life in general seemed to suck these days. 

"C'mon then. Let's go save the world again," he tried to jest. Abby wasn't believing it, but she didn't say anything. 

* * *

 

Stephen's head fell back against the wall with a dull thud, as his hand tightened afound his straining cock. "God, Nick," he murmured, his neck straining as his hips moved of their own accord. "I wish you were here right now..."

The sound of Nick's laboured breathing sent shivers down his spine, as he heard the other man trying to control himself. He could picture Nick, leaning against the wall of the research trailer, legs splayed and skin sheened with sweat. He always came too fast on his own, he had once admitted to Stephen; but when they were on the phone together like this, he would try so very hard to hold himself back. 

He knew how much Stephen loved to hear him. 

His eyes would be shut tight, lips parted and trembling as he forced himself to move slowly, to draw it out. The mental image was enough to divest Stephen of his self-control for a moment, and he nearly took himself over the edge before he regained control. 

He could hear Nick's knowing smile over the phone. "Did I just hear you almost lose control, Stephen? Must have been a pretty picture in your head..." The hoarse, strained quality of the man's brogue had Stephen writhing, letting go of a low groan, the handset almost slipping out from between his ear and shoulder. Nick chuckled breathlessly. 

"It's my voice, isn't it," he said, and Stephen could hear that spent, winded aspect that meant Nick Cutter was reaching the end of his tether. "You love listening to my voice like this..."

"Mmm..." Stephen agreed, quickening his pace to match Nick's shallow breaths. A whimper escaped his throat, carnal frustration and emotional desire twisting his insides. "Fuck...I want you here..." He swiped his thumb over the head, gasping as he did so, his mouth agape like a fish gulping for air. 

"Show me...how much you miss me," he heard Nick grunt. "Want to hear you, Stephen." Stephen was surprised the other had held out even that long, but he didn't say anything, just gave Nick what he wanted. He gave in with abandon, pumping his cost as hard, as fast, as he could, relaxing his vocal restraint and letting every little moan, whine, and plea carry in the empty air. 

He could still hear Nick's shuddering breaths over his own, the sound of his lover finally alowing his own release the most arousing, intimate sound he could imagine. He closed his eyes, picturing it, and as Nick emptied all the air from his lungs in a long, shaky exhale, Stephen let go of that last shred of self control, spilling himself all over his hand. 

Both were quiet as they fought to get their breath back, panting the only sound heard by either. 

"I miss you," Stephen admitted softly, hating himself for saying it. He knew Nick would hear the hurt in the words, the passion and the hate and the frustration for only being able to say that, and not what he meant. But Nick wouldn't know that. He'd just know that for some reason, Stephen was near to tears, and incredibly frustrated. And of course, missing someone could give rise to those same emotions. Nick had no idea. 

He was quiet, and Stephen could picture him, sitting cross-legged now with his back to the wall and a faint, satisfied smile on his face. The smile that would fade a little at Stephen's words. 

"...I miss you, too," Nick answered finally. His voice was quiet, private, intimate; a way he had of speaking that he only used for Stephen. And if Stephen tried very hard, he could imagine maybe a little of the same emotion in that voice. He could force himself to read between nonexistent lines and to hope that maybe Nick knew. Reciprocated. 

They both heard the words neither were able to say, and it was left that way. As it always was. 

Stephen stayed with the phone pressed to his ear, just listening to Nick's breathing, until the rate of his lover's breaths told him the exhausted professor had finally fallen asleep. Not long after, his phone began beeing a disconnected signal at him, and he turned it off, dropping it on the floor beside him. 

"I love you," he muttered to the empty office.

* * *

"I love you," Nick muttered, staring into his glass of whiskey, and Stephen laughed it off, plucking the glass out of his hands. 

"You're drunk, mate," he informed his professor, glad his own slurred speech would cover up the tremor in his voice. Nick still had no idea, and for the sake of the research, the university--for the sake of their friendship--he had to keep it that way. 

"No, I mean, really, Stephen," Nick urged, trying to focus on hims through bleary eyes. "I love you." 

Stephen could almost fool himself that Nick was being serious, but instead, he just shook his head and swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Let's get you home, professor."

* * *

Nick watched Stephen as the younger man moved through the office, his movements graceful, wonderful to watch. Like a ray, he decided with a smile, all clean lines and limber, agile ripples. It was a nice image. 

Pushing himself off the edge of the desk, he stepped over the piles of papers to where Stephen was rustling through a sheaf of yellowing foolscap. "It's all right," he murmured, shaking his head and placing a hand on Stephen's wrist. "We'll find it eventually."

"I remember that paper!" Stephen exclaimed, his voice just a little plaintive, and his eyes every bit as pleading. "I remember Helen showing it to me, reading it...I know it is in here somewhere. Nick...it could be the answer." His eyes searched the craggy face of the older man, so lined with worry and sorrow and longing, but they stopped when they reached Nick's eyes. 

Nick was gazing at him, steadily, that hand on his wrist tightening just a little, and Stephen froze. The expression on that face...his heart wanted to leap and sink simultaneously, unsure of what it was, what it meant. 

"I haven't really cared about Helen for a while now, Stephen," Nick said softly. He looked down, turned the other's hand over, ran his fingers along his wrist and over his palm. Stephen could feel his face beginning to heat. 

"You don't mean that, Nick," he said quietly, trying to lead the conversation to safer ground. "You still miss her, you still want your answers. And I don't blame you, I don't. Don't get..." Nick's fingers grazed the tips of his own, and he paused, taking in a shuddering breath. "Don't get frustrated because we don't know, yet. I'm sure its in here, somewhere--that paper--it has to have the answers. We'll find out what happened to her."

Nick shook his head, giving Stephen one of those wry smiles that made his heart quicken. "I haven't cared for awhile now, Stephen," he repeated, and he slid their fingers together. Stephen's jaw went slack, and he glanced down at their hands, then back up into Nick's face. It was closer than it had been a moment ago. "I just wanted to keep you with me."

Stephen tightened his fingers around the others, and Nick's smile widened, relief passing through his eyes. Their lips met in a slow, soft kiss, and Stephen had never been happier. 

* * *

In the car, Connor put his hand over Abby's as she went to turn the key. "Abby, wait," he said quietly. She turned to look at him, her expression incredulous, frustrated. 

"Connor, we're going to be late! What's going on with you?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
She stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide at the words. "...What?"  
  
He shifted in his seat so that he was facing her directly, not even noticing the seatbelt cutting into his neck. "I love you, Abby. I mean it. I said it back in the future and I'm saying it again now." She was still looking at him suspiciously; her heart was fluttering under her chest. Her breath felt short.   
  
"Connor, are you okay? Maybe I should call Jenny, get her to let you stay home today. I think Cutter's death is getting to you--"  
  
"I went to Stephen's grave today." The non sequiter had Abby gaping, shaking her head and trying to make sense of what he was blabbering on about. "I took some of Cutter's ashes--he wanted me to, he told me when we were in the ARC--and I took them to Stephen's grave. They were in love, see? I mean, we all pretty much knew it, but it was real. And..." This was what had kept him wandering the graveyard for another two hours after he'd paid his respects. It had had him sitting on the edge of a stone statue, head in his hands, with tears running down his face at the sheer enormity of what it all meant. It had forced him to think and to reason and to grow a pair, and had sent him almost running home, thanking Nick and Stephen for what they had shown him.   
  
It had scared the shit out of him when he reached the door, and had put him into a frightened stupor that he tried to pass off as grief.   
  
"And Abby, I don't think they ever had the chance to say it. And it got me thinking--this stuff, with the anomalies, is dangerous. We could die. Professor Cutter did, and Stephen did, and you almost did, and...well, we should say what we have to when we can, because we might not get another chance. Any of us could die with any of these anomalies, the creatures that come through. Even today! Who knows?!" Abby was staring at him, dumbfounded, the key in the ignition forgotten. The expression on her face had Connor swallowing slightly, shifting his gaze, suddenly unsure of himself. "...What?"  
  
"Connor, are you going to keep talking, or are you just going to kiss me already?" Abby pleaded, her voice quiet, and Connor blinked in disbelief. He could see the tears in her eyes; he wasn't sure if it was grief at his mentioning Stephen and Nick's death, or the tragedy of their relationship, or even his own admission. But whatever it was, he wiped the tears away with his thumbs, and kissed her, gently.   
  
"I love you, too," she whispered back to him, her voice breaking. Their arms went around each other, and they cried.   
  


* * *

  
 _I love you, Stephen,_  Nick thought as he sat with his head resting on Connor's shoulder. _I'm sorry I never said it. I'm sorry I never told you...But I hope you knew._

He could picture Stephen's face, glowing, that beautiful smile still etched on his lips. He could feel the pressure of his hand as he rested it on Nick's shoulder; could picture the man kneeling in front of him. Nick wanted to raise his head, to look at him straight on, but he didn't have the strength.  _I love you_ , he mouthed again to himself. His lips barely moved to form the words; he had no strength of breath to give them voice.

He imagined Stephen's lips covering his, and Nick Cutter finally allowed himself to let go.


End file.
